


Winter: Soldier and Prince

by MostFacinorous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes as Captain America, Canon-Typical Violence, Facial Shaving, Feeding, Minor Injuries, Multi, Murder, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Possessive Behavior, Steve Rogers as the Winter Soldier, relationships and ratings potentially to change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-05-28 18:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15055202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: Loki acquires HYDRA's favorite Asset, and James Barnes-- Captain America-- discovers that his best friend didn't die in the war after all.(a birthday gift-fic for Lena)





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lena7142](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lena7142/gifts).



Life had been more unfair than usual lately, and for him, that was saying a hell of a lot.

  
  


Wasn’t bad enough to get your best friend killed saving your dumb ass, wasn’t bad enough to wake up almost a hundred years later, wasn’t even bad enough that your co-worker’s batshit brother was working with those guys you thought you wiped out a century ago-- no.

The worst part was how Loki had made his own attempt at wiping Hydra off the map, and had made sure they knew about it. He sent _a letter_ of all things. And Tony had been pretty put out when Loki had taken over his screens with a live televised showing of him having some mind controlled schmuck slaughter his way through an entire Hydra base.

And normally, James would have no problem with letting them fight it out-- less work for him and his team. But.

But.

The mind controlled schmuck?

It was _Steve_.

And James had gotten there Too. Late. Just like he’d turned back too late, failed to grab his hand-- let him _fall into the flame_ \--

He’d known he would, too, from the moment he had stepped foot on the quinjet and found Nat waiting, already ready to get him to Germany.

There had been files that Loki had left behind with the carnage-- pictures, video-- some of it was rough to watch. Most of it, even. Fifty-some-odd years of records about what was done to Steve, all the hands he had passed through, missions he’d been sent on… the way HYDRA had sucked him almost dry, trying to get the serum out of his blood and build their own version.

The kind of stuff that made his previous nightmares, about Steve burning to death while James ran for it, seem like daisy fields.

And Nat had gotten _all of it_. Of course she had; she was that good.

As he sorted through the files on his laptop, though, this was the first time he wasn’t sure he was grateful for her skills.

But, he had to cling to the few scraps of brightness.

Steve was _alive_.

And Loki hadn’t killed him; he had _taken him with him_. Which-- he was pretty sure that wasn’t kinder. And as much as life had been unfair to James, _Steve--_

Steve had saved him from Hydra, before falling into the fire. And James-- damn him, he’d _left him there_. They hadn’t found his body, but with that kind of burn, it was hard to tell who was who, when there was anything left at all.

He’d just assumed--

And he’d assumed _wrong_.

Steve hadn’t escaped unscathed, either. His file detailed the damage, though long after the fact. There was a lot of years missing from the records, and there was nothing about how bad the initial burns must have been to leave scars, even with his healing abilities. But that whole side of his body was covered in them, the skin puckered and twisted. And his arm--

He didn’t know if it had been burned too severely, or if him losing it had come later, but they’d definitely replaced it at some point.

Whether he needed it or not.

All of the paperwork talked about upgrades, how they’d made him _even stronger_. Not like he’d needed any help there.

James was beside himself, and that was putting it nicely. He owed Steve his life, and long before he’d taken vitamin shots and turned into some kind of sideshow strong man, James had promised his Ma that he’d take care of him. He’d promised Steve, to his face, to be there til the end of the line.

And it looked like their line hadn’t ended-- neither of them, despite them _both_ supposedly dying.

It was a sign, James figured, that neither of them had done it right in the first place.

Pretty much the only time James’d ever been glad to have half-assed a job.

And, he figured, that was probably at least a little bit Sarah Rogers’ doing; _she_ wouldn’ta let him go down, knowing Stevie was out there getting-- getting turned into--

That was the other thing.

It was questionable whether his Stevie was even _in there_. All the footage they had of him was hard faced and blank eyed. A brutally efficient killing machine that was more graceful that Steve had ever been, especially in that beefy new body of his. He’d never figured out how to wear it properly back before the fire, but it sure seemed like he’d had the time since. And the things they’d had him do with it...

“You can stare at that screen all you want.” Natasha’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Steve’s not going to jump out of it, no matter how hard you frown.”

He sighed and leaned against her, the rumbling of the jet’s engines running through the both of them.

“You said he remembered me, right?” He asked, for at least the hundredth time.

One of the things they’d had Steve do in between ice naps was train a bunch of little girls into killers like him.

Thing was, the longer his brain unthawed, the more he remembered, apparently. And the more himself he was, the more he got protective of the little girls he was training. And then he told those little girls about his life before-- in broken pieces. Mixed up half-memories.

Thing about little girls, though, was they tended to grow up. Even if the guy who had taught them didn’t seem to age much.

“He always talked about _Bucky_. I didn’t realize--”

James swallowed.

After Steve had died, he’d picked up the half burned prop shield and taken up the mantle of Captain America.

PR wouldn’t let him go on the records as Bucky Barnes anymore, though-- wasn’t distinguished enough. James, though: now there was a good, strong, old name.

And, truth be told, with Steve gone, the only people he wanted to call him Bucky were his family.

God, he missed them.

“We’re going to find him.” Natasha promised, squeezing the back of his shoulder reassuringly.

“I’m hoping he remembers enough to come looking for me. Provided Loki’s not…” He bit off the words, remembering the way Clint had looked when he’d been under Loki’s spell, back when Loki had first invaded.

“I’m going to go talk to Pepper. See if we can’t get my face plastered on twice as many of everything as usual. Maybe it’ll make it easier for him.”

Natasha smiled grimly.

“I’m sure your foundation is going to love that.”

James nodded, though the extra money for charity was just a bonus.

“Tony’s working with Bruce to build a reading of potential power spikes for where Loki’s holing up, provided he’s on Earth at all.” She continued, obviously having been busy doing actual work, while James had been watching Germany’s most horrific home videos.

James winced. He’d been avoiding that line of thought, too.

“If he’s not on Earth, I’ll talk to Fury and Thor and jump start those diplomatic talks between worlds that we’ve been dancing around.”

Natasha nodded.

“These are all good plans. But you should rest now. Wait until the people in New York and DC are awake. Get at least a few hours of sleep, or you’re going to be ripping everyone’s heads off.”

He glanced at the clock and groaned. Damn time-zones.

“Sorry, I shouldn’ta kept you up, either.”

She pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Well, now that I know I’m dating _the_ Bucky…” She teased, her voice light. “Besides, you know I don’t sleep on planes.”

James reached up and grabbed both sides of her head, holding her close so that he could give her a proper kiss.

He pressed his forehead to hers, afterwards, and stayed there for a long minute.

“Thank you.” He told her, finally. “For putting up with me.”

She looked him square in the face.

“He’s saved my life, too. We _will_ find him. Meanwhile, he’s strong. Maybe the strongest guy either of us has ever known. He’s gonna be okay.”

“I sure hope so,” Bucky murmured, finally closing the laptop and shifting to try and get comfortable.

  
  
  


 


	2. Two

He could have led them. Hydra.

Had he stayed, though, in time, they would have turned on him. They would have learned of his origins and drawn the logical lines between Loki himself and those whom their zealots hated, and then they would have attacked, forcing him to kill those who attempted to subdue him. But Loki had never been fond of waiting for someone to disappoint him. He would much rather take matters into his own hands and strike preemptively. And if he could send a message while he did so? So much the better.

He had arranged for his brother to see all of it. Every blood soaked moment of his conquering.

Let him come to the aid of his own enemies, if he wished. Loki would still come out the victor.

Besides, what use was an army when he would have had to destroy all of their strongest and most brilliant? Loki did not accept cast offs and second bests.

And if they wanted to give him the tools of their demise, so much the better. He granted himself access to so many of their weapons, so many pieces of power-- he'd come in search of more treasures deposited here by Odin... but he'd known what he wanted to do from the moment he lay his eyes on The Asset.

Masked and shrouded in ice, he looked almost like someone had managed to shear Thor and whittle him down a little. But his files spoke so highly of his abilities… Loki just wanted to see if they spoke truly.

He activated him with the codes they stored him with, and when his actions brought the guards, Loki only grinned.

The Asset spoke only to acknowledge his orders, and then he went to work.

The first wave of guards, twelve of them, were summarily dispatched. He fought like a demon, turning any item in easy reach into a weapon. It was the most destructive dance Loki had seen in centuries.

He took one man by the throat, got his other hand flat on his head, and twisted as casually and easily as if he were opening a door. Another, he killed with his own gun, bending his arm in a way arms were not made to bend, to a chorus of agonized screaming and sickening crunches, and then he pulled the trigger, and it was over… for that one. And on and on he moved, not only killing or rendering them useless, but doing it so quickly and efficiently that Loki never had to move. The Asset targeted each man as he turned his sights on Loki, and though bullets would not have harmed him, at least three of the guards died absorbing the shots fired by their own men. The Asset just twisted, pulled, and manipulated the men until they were finished.

He held himself with grace and dignity and control and power-- all of the things that the rest of Loki's allies in the organization lacked. They were proud, too sure of themselves. And they confused their numbers with immunity.

They thought themselves invincible.

With the help of The Asset, Loki was teaching them that they had no concept of the meaning of the word.

And watching him was a _delight_.

The next soldiers approached him as Asgard's hunters had approached beasts thought to be mythical. As though the Hydra agents thought they did not battle with a human, but rather something completely other. Something all but oozing power. And Loki observed the way he moved, the way he cut down all of those in his path, his movements constrained and just enough to do as much damage as necessary, and thought that there might be some truth to that. There was none of the fierce pleasure on his face that warriors showed, none of the manic glee of the berserkers-- but even still. Perhaps it was Loki projecting his own smugness onto the blood splattered, masked man. Maybe it was something about how he did it, how quickly he had taken to his orders-- maybe Loki just enjoyed watching the slaughter much better when he thought the man doing the killings was enjoying himself, too.

Whatever the case, it was glorious, and then it was over-- and if he hadn’t been so enraptured, Loki might have blinked and missed it. Hydra was laughably incapable in the shadow of their Asset.

And that was why, when nothing was left but blood and bodies and The Asset turned to Loki, blue eyes blank and what was visible of his face dripping with blood, Loki took a step back. He wasn't sure that he would have called the feeling he felt fear; it was too mingled with pleasure and awe and surprise and smugness... but there was a termination code that came with the Asset, and he called it out.

After all, he did take such great pleasure in striking preemptively.

Even when he went unconscious, the Asset was graceful, his knees buckling and the rest of him following the path downwards.

And after that, well, it would have been a shame to leave him. The Avengers, or SHIELD, or some other organization would only snap him up, and then he would be 'fixed' 'cured', made imperfect... or put to work, potentially against Loki.

No, it would have been a waste to kill him, and far too great a risk to leave him.

Loki gathered him up, surprised to find how small he seemed when draped over his arms. He was only a few fingers shorter than Loki himself, but as he was now, his brow smoothed with his unconsciousness and his body pliable and limp, he seemed like an overgrown child. (If a wider than usual one)

Something nearly protective stirred in Loki's chest, and he thought again of abandoning the man in return for it, but no.

No, now he was _curious_.

How had a people so flawed created a being so nearly perfect? He was unquestioningly loyal. Efficient. A worthwhile companion, Loki thought, even if he wasn't some great relic of Odin's. He could be Loki’s, instead.

He brought the man with him to the home he had made for himself in a small town on the edge of a large river.

It was a nice apartment, and there was room enough that The Asset might have his own space, but Loki chose to put him down on his bed. He surveyed his prize, and found himself frowning at his inability to see the rest of the face. He'd seen the hard glint of calculating blue eyes, ruthless and remorseless like chips of ice set in his face, but the rest of it was covered by a ridiculous mask.

Loki peeled it away, frowning at what lay beneath.

Nearly perfect, he'd thought before. And only that, it seemed-- across the left side of him was an almost lace-like network of scars, silvery pink against his skin. The only imperfection he could find in what was otherwise an exceptionally lovely face. If not for those, poetry might be written about such a man, the strong brows and squared jaw, the dark golden hair and long, swooping lashes. Even the short growth of hair across his chin, which gave evidence of Hydra’s attempts to keep him shaven like a youth, it was all arranged in such a way that were he not scarred and not breathing, Loki would think him to be sculpted.

He magicked the blood off of his new toy and leaned in, pulling at his wrappings and surprised to see that the scarring continued downwards, and that the silver arm that the files had spoken of had been attached so sloppily; the additional lattice of scars intersected and cut into the ripples that covered that side.

Something had clearly happened to him, something horrific enough to have scarred him and removed the arm. If Loki didn't know better, he might say it was heat, fire that had seared his flesh, but he was too whole for that, too well formed.

The mystery of his markings would simply have to wait, Loki decided.

He had things to see to before he woke his soldier again. His own bloodied form to clean off, the news to watch for images of himself and his pet clearing away the Hydra scum... and he was hungry.

He should probably feed the other man as well, but to do so he would have to first acquire victuals for the two of them.

Not that it would be difficult.

But it would certainly be a good deal easier if The Asset stayed asleep.

With one last lingering glance, Loki took in the whole of his slumbering form, confident that even if he did wake, even if he escaped, Loki would soon find him again. He wasn't about to lose the man now.

After all, they were just getting started, and there was an entire realm’s worth of work to be done.

  
  
  


 


	3. Three

Even with as fast as the quinjet traveled, James was impatient to land, and deplaned as soon as possible-- maybe sooner than was advisable.

Thank God for Nat, though. Without her, these last few hours would have been so much worse. And, like the saint she was, she had volunteered to round up and update all the others, so he wouldn’t have to talk about it just yet. He still didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her, and he knew he’d have to needle her later to be sure she really _was_ okay, considering her history with Steve, but for now, he was grateful.

Still, the moment they were in the tower, he hunted down Stark, jaw jumping and shoulders tense from all the things he had seen on his flight.

“So, how bad is it? Or how good, I’m always at a loss for who we’re rooting for when the bad guys square off.”

Tony greeted him, and James sighed.

Wordlessly, he handed Tony a hard drive.

“HYDRA?” He asked, though James didn’t think he needed an answer. “JARVIS, initiate quarantine mode.” He said, and sat the thing into a cradle he had built into the desk.

But James knew he deserved some warning.

“Before you go through that-- you may want to sit down.”

Tony obviously recognized that tone of voice. His jaw clicked shut and he pulled a stool over, more obedient than James had ever seen him. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Nat may have sent a heads up text.” Tony admitted slyly.

James smiled thinly.

“What a doll. But… she doesn’t know everything. Not yet. And neither do I. Short version of the story? The first Captain America, Steve Rogers-- didn’t die in the war after all. HYDRA got their hands on him. Messed with his mind, his body. Made him into a weapon.”

Tony looked pale, and James was sympathetic; really he was, but he pushed on.

“I need your help. There’s video on there- Loki pulled Steve out of a freezer, said something to him, and it made him go fucking nuts. He killed everyone who wasn’t Loki, and it took a matter of minutes. Then Loki says something else, and he drops like a stone. And now Loki has my not-dead brainwashed best friend, who apparently is a hell of an assassin-- he trained Nat, back in the day.”

Tony let out a low whistle.

“Mondays are always rough, but this is one for the history books.”

The joke was feeble. James didn’t smile.

“I have to go report to Fury. Let me know if you find anything-- I’m sure Nat will be down as soon as she can to help go through stuff.”

“We’ve done some recording on Loki’s power signature in the last year or so. I’m going to start scanning, see if we can pick up any residue, any sign of where he might have come from… or gone. I’ll have JARVIS ping you if we find anything.”

James rubbed his forehead, the start of a headache setting in.

He wondered if Steve ever got them, with his good version of the serum. It was such a strange thought that it took him a moment to realize that Tony had come in closer. He startled back to himself when he grabbed James by the shoulder.

“Hey, we’re gonna find him, alright? We’ll get him back.”

James tried to smile at that.

“Yeah. Thanks, Tony. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

It was just hard not to feel like this was all his fault. And harder still not to worry what Loki might be doing to Steve-- or using him for-- right now.

 

\---

  
  


It seemed that while the command put The Asset down, it did not guarantee that he remained asleep.

Fortunately, Loki had taken actions in the event that was the case, and had made the room he left him in as inescapable as possible.

When he returned, the man was huddled in on himself as if he were cold, though the blankets on the bed remained undisturbed. He was staring at the door even before Loki dropped the shields and allowed him to see him, and though he might have expected it, the man did not run at him, did not seek instantly to attack. But he also did not do anything else; he only watched warily.

“I see you woke on your own. I wasn't certain that you would.” Loki spoke lightly, watching for any signs of movement, any bunching of muscles that would betray the intent to spring into action.

Again, there was no answer, so Loki stepped forward, curious if he would flinch or shrink from him.

“I have prepared food, if you would like to come with me to eat.”

The Asset's stomach lurched, and Loki raised an amused brow at the noise, before nodding at the door.

The Asset looked at the door, then back at Loki.

“Do not try to escape me. I am more than capable of returning you here, or anywhere else I choose to keep you.”

That time, the Asset nodded.

Loki nodded in return and left the room, leaving the door open and waiting for the man to follow him. But a minute passed before it became clear that he was not coming. Huffing with annoyance, Loki returned to the door.

“Aren't you hungry?” He asked.

“Yes.” The Asset responded. Which was good, Loki was beginning to think he had only imagined the few grunted syllables he'd heard during the destruction of Hydra.

“Then come with me.”

That time, The Asset rose and followed him out of the room, though he looked distrustful. As he should, Loki supposed, waking in a strange place to see only Loki.

He wondered if he would have to convince him the food was unpoisoned, too.

“Go ahead and sit.” Loki gestured to the table, unused to filling the silence himself. Alone, he let it overtake him. Around others, he usually did not have to work to make them speak. But then, they were not usually able to be controlled the way this man was, either.

The Asset sat, and Loki summoned their plates to the table, hoping that the use of his magic, outside of a human's abilities, would prompt some commentary from the other man. But he barely even blinked. He only looked down at the food before him, then back up at Loki.

Loki raised his fork and sliced himself a bite of turkey. He ate without hesitation, demonstrating its wholesomeness.

But The Asset did not eat. Did not lift his fork. Only watched Loki.

He could hear the man's stomach growling again, and he swallowed, chasing the mouthful with a sip of wine, that he might speak.

“I have not poisoned it.” He said it as though he were offended, as if it was a challenge. The Asset gave no sign that he had heard.

Loki stared back for a moment, then snatched his napkin from his lap and threw it on the table beside his plate, rising. The chair screeched against the floor at his motions, and The Asset flinched, then, when he stormed over to him.

“If you are going to question my honesty, at least have the good grace to do so verbally.” Loki snarled, taking up The Asset's fork with a violent motion. The Asset flinched again and tensed, looking straight ahead and grinding his teeth together.

Loki took a forkful of potatoes from The Asset's plate, and put it into his own mouth.

The Asset looked down, then at him, following the fork, following the motion. He had not relaxed, and Loki wondered what was going through his mind.

After he had sampled some of each dish on the plate, he sat the man's fork back down and took a step back, his hands on his hips.

“Well? Eat!” He said, all patience suddenly gone.

As if he had flipped a switch, The Asset all but dove upon his food, not bothering with the fork. Loki would have been offended again if he was not made aghast by the desperation in The Asset's actions.

He was pushing food into his face faster than he could possibly chew it.

“Slow down, you will make yourself sick.” Loki protested, though the words sounded weak to his own ears.

Though he glared at him, The Asset followed directions. And Loki could not help but be impressed.

What kind of man was hungry enough to eat like a beast, and yet still disciplined enough not to touch food set before him until…

...until he had been directly told to do so.

Just as he had had to be ordered out of the room.

Loki could not describe what he felt about this revelation, and he retreated back to his own place at the table.

Curious now, he spoke again.

“Stop.”

The Asset ceased all motions. He held still, his mouth full, but not chewing or seeking to swallow, his handful of meat hovering midway to his mouth.

“Finish what you already have in your mouth. Slowly.” Loki instructed, and he watched closely as The Asset did so, dutifully chomping at a third or less of the speed he'd been going before.

Loki saw his throat working as he swallowed, saw the way his scars danced with the motions.

“Take a drink of wine. Do you need me to prove to you that it is not poisoned, as well?”

The Asset lifted the glass with his metal hand, simultaneously shaking his head no, and then he took a healthy sized swallow of the liquid.

He returned the glass to exactly where it had been sitting, and Loki winced at the smudged mashed potatoes that lingered from the touch.

No doubt his arm would need to be cleaned, after this.

All of him, likely, he amended, watching as bits of green mush that had once been peas dropped from his face to his lap.

“You may continue eating now, but do so at a reasonable speed. I am not going to take your food from you. And use your fork.” He added, when the man made to continue as he had been.

The Asset paused, but then lifted the fork just the same, the sound of metal on metal strange to Loki's ears in this context.

It seemed it was strange to The Asset as well, for he passed the fork from one hand to the other and back again, before awkwardly beginning to try to shovel food onto the flat of it.

“Do you... need help?” Loki asked, grimacing at The Asset's difficulties.

The Asset did not answer, stabbing through the entire serving of meat and lifting it up, glaring at Loki while he bit off as much as he could fit into his mouth at once. Loki sighed and stood, this time bringing his chair with him.

“Give me the fork.” He commanded, holding out his hand.

The Asset did, though he looked much less than pleased about it.

Loki pulled The Asset's plate closer to himself and watched as The Asset's face went still, shuttering off.

No doubt he thought Loki was punishing him; taking his food despite saying that he would not.

Loki scraped the meat off of the fork.

“Now give me your knife.” He instructed, and was not completely surprised to see the flinch come again, but again, The Asset complied, offering the knife to Loki handle first. Again he tensed, as if in preparation for pain, and Loki silently cursed whichever of the now-dead men had made him like this.

Quickly, he cut a piece small enough to be civil, and offered the bite to The Asset on the end of his fork.

The Asset looked down at it, brows knitting.

“It’s yours, you can eat it.”

The man opened his mouth, but did not lean in to take it. Loki lifted the fork into his mouth, and only then did teeth and lips close.

He pulled the fork backwards, feeling the metal scrape against The Asset’s teeth, and sighed.

This would take them some time.

He cast a wistful glance back at his abandoned cup of wine, but turned himself and his attentions to the task at hand.

This wasn’t sympathy-- merely upkeep. What good was a weapon, after all, if it was too weak to operate?

He told himself that and ignored the way The Asset’s throat worked after each bite, the way he began leaning in for more as the meal went on.

He saw the way the man slowed, as though he were getting full, but he did not stop eating. He looked resigned as he took each mouthful, now. And he did not ask Loki to stop.

But then, he had not asked to eat, either.

“Have you had enough?” Loki asked, and The Asset glanced up at him, obviously startled, but he looked grateful.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Loki said, and stood. He sent the remains of The Asset’s food to the kitchen for clean up when he was ready to address it. “Can you clean yourself?” He asked.

The Asset nodded once, sharply, though he looked uncomfortable.

Inwardly Loki frowned, but he gave no outward signs of dismay.

“The bathroom is the door to your right. Make use of anything you need in there to make yourself clean again.”

He hoped it was specific enough, but he was not about to follow the man to be sure.

He watched him leave, then sat and reheated his own dinner with a quick spell.

Whatever mess awaited him in the bathroom, he would find out after he’d eaten. And, he thought, as something that sounded distinctly like shattering glass came from that direction, at least one more glass of wine would not be remiss, either.

Still, his concern-- for the state of his living quarters, primarily, he assured himself-- urged him to hasten his eating and brought him to the doorway of the bathroom as quickly as he could manage. Even still it had been more than long enough and all too quiet by the time he finished.

He had not closed the door, and Loki could see that he had managed to turn the shower on and presumably wash himself; at the very least the potatoes seemed by and large cleared from his arm. He was wet and at least not visibly covered in filth, but the lack of wrappings gave Loki plain view of the scarring all down his left side.

It wasn’t just his face and neck, wasn’t just the missing arm, but even the skin below that, tight across his ribs and down his flank was all marred by swirling lines.

He must have made some noise at the sight, because The Asset turned to look at Loki, and suddenly with the other side of his face visible so was the blood, dark and stark against the paleness of his skin.

Loki stepped forward without thinking, barking out a sharp, “Drop it.”

The Asset obeyed instantly, his face blank of emotion.

His shaving knife clattered into the sink, and Loki scowled.

“Let me see your face.” He tried not to show the concern he felt.

The Asset had had a knife in his hand when Loki came to check on him, and Loki hadn’t seen it. He could have attacked, could have done real damage. But he’d chosen not to. _Why_ , Loki wondered.

He waved his fingers to still the bleeding and wiped at the blood on his face with toilet paper. The damage was not deep, nor did it seem intentional. It looked as though the blade had snagged on the Asset’s scars, and Loki frowned at that. Still, he elected to let it heal on its own, lest his power cause the Asset to fear him or distrust him more.

“You were trying to shave?” He asked, words soft because the room was small.

The man could hardly work his flatware; what made him think that he could shave himself? Loki tilted The Asset’s head to look and he was pliant, moving his neck easily with guidance.

The hair did not grow where the scars were, which was hardly a surprise. What _was_ surprising was that he’d managed to scrape smooth only a small space before apparently slipping and cutting himself, at least a few times.

Interesting, after the way that he had wielded himself and all of his surroundings as weapons against Hydra. And yet it seemed that he was incapable of using tools-- even those shaped like weapons. Such as Loki’s shaving knife.

The Asset made an affirmative sounding noise, but did not try to nod or speak; either would have necessitated pulling his head away from Loki’s grasp.

Loki let go of him and took a step back, only realizing then that he had been staring, and grabbed blindly for the towel that hung on the wall.

“Dry yourself and wrap this around you, then lower the toilet lid and have a seat.”

He left The Asset to follow those instructions and wandered deeper into the room to assess any damage that his shower may have sustained. Nothing was visibly wrong, the bottles even neatly capped and replaced where they had been. He had no idea what had been broken, though there was glass in the trash bin when he checked-- a vial of hair oil, a waste but hardly a great loss.

It made him wonder if, when he judged himself finished, The Asset would have reset the rest of the room as well. If Loki had left him be, would there have been any sign of his struggles with the knife at all?

Loki lay another towel on the floor to absorb the water that had dripped from The Asset’s skin, and turned back to find him obediently sitting on the toilet, towel wound around his waist, watching Loki calmly.

He seemed perfectly at ease, even disrobed, in Loki’s presence, until Loki lifted the knife. Then he stiffened and Loki swallowed, approaching him. He wondered if he would take it as a threat, if that would finally cause him to lash out, to fight back against Loki.

He called the termination code to mind and moved closer, but the Asset did nothing but tense.

From this close, Loki could see the way his eyes were wide, fearful, but wary, and how, after showering and now nearly dried, his hair was several shades lighter than he’d originally thought.

“Turn your face up for me.” He instructed, and The Asset lifted his head until he was facing the ceiling, though his eyes stayed on Loki as best as they could, no doubt the planes of his own cheekbones interfering with his view.

Loki sat the knife on the edge of the counter beside him, watching to see if he would reach out for it. His hand flexed, but that was all; he was tempted, then, but still too obedient for that.

Good.

Loki turned away and came back with his bowl and shaving soap.

“In the future, if you feel the need to do this, you will want to protect your face first.” He wet the brush in the sink and spun the majority of the water out, speaking as he began working the bristles over the hard soap.

“This is meant to keep the razor from tugging at your skin and ripping it open. It creates more of a glide, and it keeps your face moist through the shaving process. I would prefer that you not attempt to shave your face without using something like this first.”

Once the brush was full of product, he set the soap itself aside and put a few drops of water into the bowl, working the brush through it until the lather formed, thick and creamy. From there, he moved in close, standing over The Asset.

“This may feel odd at first, but it will not hurt you.” He told him.

He coated the beard with the foam, careful to cover all of it, and some of the scarred side of his face as well, because moisture and cleanliness could hardly hurt him. He tilted his head and got the area under The Asset’s chin and down the column of his neck where his beard trailed downwards, glad that none of the hair was any longer than it was currently, or he might have had to trim it first. He could only imagine how the Asset would react to yet another step in this process that would necessitate his trusting Loki near him with more sharp metal.   
As it was, when he traded the brush and bowl for the shaving knife, Loki saw the way he tensed, followed his eyes as he stepped in. He lay the blade against the skin of his neck, and almost dropped it when The Asset relaxed suddenly, his eyes going out of focus and his gaze drifting somewhere beyond Loki while his body went limp.

“Asset?” He said, suddenly feeling foolish about not having anything else to call him.

The Asset’s eyes swiveled towards Loki’s face, but he remained mostly unresponsive. It was worrisome, but Loki thought it was best to get this over with. The sooner the man no longer thought himself in danger, the sooner, he hoped, that he would come out of the odd fugue he’d fallen into.

He steadied his hand and made the first stroke, opting to start high on his face and work his way down. He pulled the skin taut with the fingers of his free hand and the knife slid with relative ease, the angles easier on another’s face than they were on Loki’s own, he discovered. He’d not done this for someone else before.

After the first swipe, he stopped to check on how The Asset was responding, but he was perfectly still, his breaths shallow, and his eyes almost glazed looking.

He wiped at the hair gathering on the edge of the blade and continued his work. When he’d cleared the cheek and jaw bone up to the edge of his lips, Loki brushed his fingers over the skin, surprised at how smooth it was, how soft. He’d expected the man to have skin that felt weathered, or perhaps that showed signs of damage from the frozen tanks he’d been kept in, or whatever had caused the scarring-- but no. Just a smoothness that covered all of his skin-- the cuts he’d inflicted were no more, healed already by them man’s body, and not Loki’s magic.

Realizing he’d stopped for quite long enough, Loki resumed, this time resting his fingers on The Asset’s lips to keep the skin below his nose smooth, so that the blade did not catch him.

He had the feeling it would be difficult to build trust if he slipped now. Not that he seemed to need it, with the way The Asset responded to orders, but just the same…

He got the man’s face completely cleared of hair and resisted the urge to touch the rest of the skin, to feel the seam where the smooth, fresh skin became twisted and textured.

Instead, he turned his attention to the man’s neck, the area that had caused him to panic himself into the state he was in now.

When the blade kissed his skin, The Asset began to tremble, and Loki took it away and lay his hand flat on the side of The Asset’s face. He looked present again, but wild, the white of his eyes visible all the way around. Scared.

“I do not know what has been done to you in the past,” He began. “But I am only going to remove your hair. Nothing more.”

He waited a few moments for the trembling to subside.

“May I continue?” He asked, and the only reaction he got was the man’s brows furrowing.

Though why he expected anything different, Loki couldn’t say.

He put his fingers to his neck first and lifted the skin, preparing, and without any further hesitation, he shaved a single strip of skin. He felt the man attempt to flinch away from the blade, and his immediate correction, and then he was still.

Loki did not rush, but nor did he tarry, taking only the time he needed to be certain not to harm the man.

Once he was done, he dampened a cloth and wiped away the remnants of the soap.

“The next time I go out, I will get you the blades that modern men of Midgard use, so that perhaps you may do it yourself without inflicting any further damage.” He said, feeling suddenly the acute void of conversation like a pressure upon him.

He was standing too close, now that he was finished with his work, and he stepped back.

“Dry yourself and clean up your mess.” He was perhaps more gruff than necessary. “I will bring you clothing you may use for the time being.” His closet should yield things that would fit him, at least, and he did not imagine that sleeping in such his structured uniform, made of material stiff to begin with, and further stiffened from blood, would be comfortable.

He left the room, questioning the wisdom of his choices.

What good was a weapon if it could not adapt, could not care for itself? And at what point would the burden he imposed outweigh his usefulness? He didn’t have answers to those questions, yet, and some small part of him dreaded finding out, because the choices of what to do with him would be few, and likely fatal. To one of them or the other.

  
  
  


 


	4. Four

His report to Fury was succinct. Not much to tell, really- they’d all seen the video, and until they had a chance to go through more of the files they’d recovered, the only thing he could report on was what he knew:

Everyone in the HYDRA facility was dead or had made a run for it. The freezer that Loki had found Steve in was empty. They’d left their systems up and unguarded in their panic.

Steve had fallen in flames, and James had left him for dead, and now he was back, and under Loki’s command.

It wasn’t much to go on. But James was eager to get going as best as they could. The longer Steve spent without getting help, the more afraid for him James had to be. Especially knowing how long he’d gone without it already.

And from just the stories Nat had told him…

He had to hope. Had to believe that the longer Steve stayed out of the freezer and in Loki’s control, the closer he would be to himself.

Apparently he’d remembered James in the early 90s. That wasn’t all that long ago-- he had to hope he would remember him again now, and recognize him when they came for him.

But he thought he would; James would recognize Steve anywhere, and no matter how much time passed, there were some things that didn’t change.

It wasn’t until he had left Fury’s office that he realized that some things _didn’t_ change. And if anyone could help him find Steve right now, it would be the person who knew Loki best.

It didn’t take him long to find Thor, mostly because Thor was looking for him, too. At Natasha’s request, of course.

God, he loved her.

“Captain,” Thor greeted gravely. “Natasha tells me that my brother has stolen away yours.” Thor lay a heavy hand on James’s shoulder. “I swear to you, we will find where they are hidden, and we will see him returned to you.”

James nodded, stepping forward to give Thor a pat on his own shoulder.

“Thanks, Thor. Do you have any idea where he might have taken him? Or-- what he wants with him?”

Thor hesitated, then shook his head.

“I know not where he hides, else we might have your brother back already. And... the Loki I knew would be in no hurry to burden himself with lackeys. You will note he has not teamed with any of our other opponents, though that is very much the norm among the rest of them. Loki tends to keep his own company. Or he always did. But… the Loki I knew has very little in common with the one we fight now.”

James shifted uncomfortably.

“If he decides Steve’s too much of a burden-- you don’t think he’d kill him, do you?”

Thor shrugged.

“I cannot pretend to know; I did not think Loki capable of killing innocents, until he attacked your world. But, I think so long as he finds Steve to be of use, he will likely be safe.”

Somehow, that wasn’t particularly reassuring.

  
  


\---

  
  


The man was a strange addition to Loki’s household. Used to being alone, he found himself being jarred as The Asset moved in the corner of his vision, twitching when sounds from another room surprised him.

He struggled to find mundane uses for the man; it wasn’t as if he needed to command murders every day, after all.

He tried giving him orders to cook and to prepare drinks, the latter resulting in coffee mugs filled to the rim with wine or whiskey or a finger’s width of milk in the bottom of a tumbler, to the point where Loki could only roll his eyes and show him how to do it properly.

He had ordered him to spend some time familiarizing himself with the use of table utensils, and had left him unsupervised, only to come back and see him with his metal hand prone on the table, the other hand rapidly stabbing the utensils between his fingers.

He’d been distracted when Loki returned to the room, and as he looked up, the fork had curled against the gleaming silvery plate on the back of his hand.

Loki had set it on the windowsill above the sink, more amused than anything.

Watching the Asset cooking, on the other hand, was another exercise in being impressed and then exasperated in turn.

His ability with a knife was unsurprising. His speed and the consistent size of the vegetables he chopped made it seem that this, at least, he had done before. But once the pieces were separated and ready to go into a pan or pot, he regained his lost expression and stood still.

With urging, he had deposited the vegetables in the frying pan-- and promptly burned his flesh hand in the process. It would have been comical, the way that he raised his hand and looked at it as if it had betrayed him, if not for that Loki knew he would have to play nursemaid and care for the burn.

His patience did not extend very far, on a normal day. And the time since he had brought The Asset into his home had been anything but normal.

“How is it that you have managed to live? You can kill-- well done! But cooking is beyond you? Eating-- were you fed by hand by your keepers?” The words were snapped and unkind, but the Asset did not flinch. Merely sat down the knife and stood straight and tall, though Loki knew that his hand must be hurting him.

“Did they feed you at all?” He asked, some of his ire slipping away as he considered what sort of training they would have had to use to manufacture this response in the man.

Loki strode forward and gathered his power into his hand, only to pause when he saw the way the Asset’s lower lip disappeared into his mouth.

He was biting down on it, tensing-- expecting, again, to be hurt.

“Give me your hand.” Loki instructed, torn between wanting to care for the man and not wanting him to see any sign of weakness in Loki.

He was dangerous. And he was hurt. He was a tool, a weapon-- but he was also a man unable to perform the most basic of operations in caring for himself.

The asset lifted his metal hand, face carefully blank.

“You know full well I meant the other hand. Give me your other hand.”

The Asset hesitated still, but finally did as he’d been told.

His hesitation had been interesting, but his reaction to the injury was moreso. Once he’d lifted it, so that they both could see the blisters that were rising, Loki ran the power in his hand over the tips of his fingers, and the blisters were vanished. They had found that the Asset healed quickly, after the shaving incident, and the multitude of small hurts he’d given himself since, but Loki had never stepped in to speed it along, until now.

The Asset startled, falling out of his perfect posture because of it.

He stared at his hand, then looked up into Loki’s face, bringing the repaired fingers up to stroke gently over the crumpled skin of his burns.

He raised his eyes to Loki and his eyebrow arched, and Loki realized he was asking something.

“I can’t take the scars away.” He almost apologized for that, but bit it back-- the words had already been too gentle as it was.

And the Asset didn’t look upset. His face just went blank and calm and accepting, and he stood straight again, defaulting back into awaiting orders.

Loki sighed.

“Go sit down. I will finish cooking.”

By the time he returned to the pot, though, the vegetables were already burned.

Loki felt another wave of ire rising in him, and seeing the way The Asset watched his every move did not help it any. It continued, his eyes boring into Loki’s back while he banished the mess and set the pot to soaking.

He spun on the man, gathered his power, and watched for the flinch-- this time when The Asset saw him gathered to attack, he hastily shut his eyes. Loki, caught in his annoyance and taken by his tendency towards cruelty, launched the power at him, lips curling upwards as the other man braced for pain and instead his metal arm and scarring disappeared behind the illusion of unblemished flesh.

“Come.” Loki said, turning away. “We are going out.”

He would have liked to watch his eyes open, to see the look of confusion, but that would have ruined the effect.

“You will need other pants-- I will leave them on your bed.”

Loki himself would need to change into clothing more like those of the humans he was about to be surrounded with. He wondered at how the Asset might react to other people, how he would pass among them, if he would draw notice-- but if it came down to it, Loki could spirit them off back here, and call the experiment a failure. He’d rather not, but it wasn’t as though he would get any answers if he asked The Asset’s preferences.

The Asset did not seem to like walking in a crowd. His eyes darted around, seeking out the hands and eyes of each person who came near, until the movements of his glances were almost violent, and Loki felt dizzy watching them.

“Calm yourself, soldier. There is little any of these can do to hurt us.” Though he had no idea how it was true, it seemed that the Asset’s healing was on par with his own. Or at least somewhat near to it. He hadn’t tested on it, but the man seemed prone to minor injuries, and they all disappeared in short order. And so whatever these civilians offered in the way of malintent, he knew it would be gone shortly.

And the Asset had healed from so many small injuries that Loki had started wondering if he just wanted the attention. And Loki did still react; couldn’t stop himself from doing so, at the first sight of blood.

Such a _troublesome_ pet. The thought nearly made him smile.

Not for the first time, he considered depositing him somewhere, ordering him to stay, and merely walking away.

Still, once he had stopped attempting to watch everything at once, the procession from the quiet corner Loki had dropped them off on to the restaurant he intended to dine at went much more smoothly.

He followed close behind, like a second shadow, and Loki would have enjoyed it if not for the occasional glances it caused to be tossed their way. He wondered what other people saw-- a sullen consort? A thug awaiting his chance to pick a pocket or slide a blade into Loki’s back?

He smiled grimly to himself. At least that last was not necessarily so far from the truth.

“We are going to have Italian food.” Loki explained to the man, slowing and falling into step beside him. “When we arrive, I am going to bespell your arm to feed you. I want you to tell me when you would like to eat by opening your other hand on the table flat, like this.” Loki held up his hand with his palm facing down. “When you are finished, or if you need a rest, make a fist-- do not strike the table. Merely--” he demonstrated, curling his fingers inwards. “and if you need the process to slow or speed up, it is your duty to tell me as much.”

He thought ahead, trying to determine what further instruction he needed to give to make this all seem somewhat natural, at least.

“I will order for the both of us, and when we are led to the table, sit and place the dining cloth in your lap. Can you manage that?”

The man nodded, the motion loosening a few strands of the light gold hair he kept brushed back from his face.

“Yes.”

“Very good.” Loki’s praise seemed to fall on deaf ears, but his facial expression shifted minutely. Loki took note of it, and decided to keep an eye on that-- perhaps it was something he might use.

Loki gestured at the door, intending the soldier go in before him, but he reacted by reaching out, holding it open for him.

“Thank you.” Loki said softly, more for the others inside than for the man he addressed. The Asset was no doubt unused to being thanked.

He approached the Maitre d’ and lifted an eyebrow, leaning in and sending a tiny spark of seidhr into the log book.

“I think you will find we’ve reservations for two under the name of Launson.”

The man frowned, but agreed easily enough, and Loki graciously agreed to wait while he saw to it their table was attended to.

While the man slipped away in his quiet panic to arrange something at the height of their busiest hour, Loki made certain that some other diner would be charged to their account for his and the Asset’s meal. After all, he reasoned, if they had enough money to have an account at such a restaurant, they may not even notice another two diners. And if they did, well-- it wasn’t his problem, and would not be noticed until after they’d left.

It had not taken him long to become practiced in this realm and its workings, and he did better for himself than most. Certainly far better than Thor had.

“Right this way, if you please?” This man was younger, smoother in his actions than the Maitre d’, and from the appreciative way his eyes slid down Loki’s form, he instantly liked the man. There was something agreeably unpleasant about him, and were Loki unburdened he might have seen fit to extend their acquaintance. Alas, he was distracted from any careful words he may devise by the Asset sliding into his seat almost gracelessly, before shaking his napkin free of its carefully folded form, and dropping it into his lap.

He glared up at the waiter almost challengingly, and Loki grimaced apologetically.

“Such a temper when he’s hungry.” He shrugged and settled into his own chair, waiting until the man had retreated to turn his face to the Asset, one brow raising.

“None of the servants in this restaurant are going to attack us, and if they do, _I_ will handle it. You are to calm down and attempt not to look like a walking threat.”

He watched as The Asset took a moment to obey, his face gradually clearing.

Loki kept watching him, pleased that the man did not question him or challenge his stare. Only looked down at the table or up to meet Loki’s eyes. He didn’t say a word as Loki opened the menu, the Asset’s own going untouched, and he did not even acknowledge the man when he came to take their order from Loki.

Order made and another crisis of manners averted when Loki lifted a challenging eyebrow at The Asset’s obvious scowl, Loki settled back against his chair back and rested his fingertips on the table.

“I wonder if one might order you into being a more satisfying conversational partner.” Loki mused.

“That depends on what you want to talk about.” The Asset responded, and Loki’s mouth dropped momentarily open, until he remembered himself.

“Yes well, you’ve held your silence thus far. I assume you were observing? Care to tell me what it is you’ve gathered?”

The Asset seemed to settle into his seat.

“Three exits, one to the front, one to the side, one at the rear. A wait staff of twenty visible members, minimum of five more in the kitchen, and maybe thirty guests dining. The valets outside have a cabinet full of keys, marked with red tags and numbers, and the corresponding tag is placed in the car windshield, making it easier to identify what key goes where. Easy enough to steal if we need one, though your power makes it unlikely we will.”

He nodded.

“There is a woman two tables away who keeps looking at me over her date’s shoulder. I am unsure if she is a threat or asking for help.”

Loki casually spelled the bowl of his spoon to show the view behind him, and The Asset was not incorrect.

“Perhaps she merely finds you attractive.” He said dismissively, allowing the magic to dispel itself.

The Asset jerked, his face remaining impassive, though his eyes searched first Loki’s face, then the woman’s, obviously suspicious.

“You lack your arm and your scars, remember.” Loki reminded him. “To her sight, you are but a fit man, whole and unblemished.”

If anything, it seemed to make The Asset tense more.

He looked at Loki as though he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. Loki sighed and gestured, hand rolling in the air between them.

“Out with it.” He ordered. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“I would rather feed myself.” The Asset spoke firmly, not bothering to frame it as a request.

“Can you manage your silverware? As anything other than weapons.” Loki asked him archly. “Last I knew, you could not. I intend to bespell you only to keep the attention away from you, that would otherwise arise.”

The Asset’s lips thinned, but he didn’t immediately say anything more, so Loki gave up on having any further conversation. But then, quietly, The Asset added,

“I learn quickly.”

“Not here.” Loki made his voice more gentle. “You can practice at the apartment, but not in public. Not until I know that it won’t go awry.”

The Asset firmed his jaw and looked down, clearly submitting to Loki’s wishes, and he felt a curious pang at that. He stared at the man across from him, then, when movement in the peripheral of his vision tore his attention away, he raised his hand to catch the attention of another waiter-- not their own, but one in the uniform, just the same.

“I’m sorry; if you could alert… I did not catch his name; our server? I’m afraid something has come up. We will need to take our dinners to go.” He widened his eyes slightly and wove command into his words.

“We have already provided payment at the front.”

The man nodded slightly and hurried off towards the kitchens. Loki smiled.

“We’re not eating here?” The Asset asked.

“We will take our food back to the apartment. I don’t want to deal with your glaring through my feeding you. This way you can practice and make as much mess as you want.”

He said it lightly, flippantly, the smile disappearing. The Asset looked at him through narrowed eyes, but nodded brusquely, accepting it just the same.

Loki wondered what it was he thought, or felt-- disdain, likely, or resentment.

Their food was delivered, boxed rather than presented on plates, and their waiter raised his brow and began to say something, but Loki tapped his finger on his chin, watching as the silent suggestion he sent out caused the man to change his mind.

It left him wordless, and Loki smiled.

“Thank you. Have a good evening.”

He stood, gesturing that The Asset should do the same, and handed his meal off to him to carry.

Once they had made it safely outside, he directed them into a small alley, near the garbage for the restaurant, and took both he and The Asset back to the apartment.

“Sit.” he said, nodding to the table. “I will bring dishes.”

Because they may not be eating at a nice restaurant, but they were certainly not eating out of square plastic troughs.

The Asset did as Loki had bid, and then it was Loki’s turn to hesitate, wondering whether he’d _wanted_ to sit, or if it had just been obedience. It wasn’t a thought that had much concerned him before now, but now he’d wondered, he would have to consider: how much more will of his own did he have hiding in there, behind his obedience to command? He clearly thought a lot more than Loki had been giving him credit for.

Loki turned back to the table, suddenly less than keen to have his back to The Asset for too long.

  
  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired and prompted by Lena and her amazing art and headcanons, which you can find on her  tumblr 


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